Page 96 of Forbidden Hockey
“Not yet, but if we can’t use your apartment, we will be.”
“Not good enough, Maxwell. No.”
He glares, but looks around, undeterred. “Fine.”
For one sweet moment, I think he’ll leave. He doesn’t. Instead, he drags Eddie with him to the broom closet near the bar, confirming my suspicions. There’s only one thing you do in there. I know because I’ve done a lot of things to Dirk in that same closet.
Fuck. Why my restaurant?
Instinctively, I watch the door, waiting for the trouble to follow in after Maxwell. It doesn’t. I spend five minutes wrestling with the should I and shouldn’t I’s of dragging them out of there, but inevitably decide on letting them do their thing. Because this time, Maxwell’s not leaving without telling me what I wanna know.
The first thing I want to do once I’ve made my decision? Call Dirk. I can’t because he’s on the road, but I think he’s either landed or will be landing soon. I settle on a text.
Me
Guess who’s in my fucking broom closet? They’re doing exactly what you think they’re doing.
It’s a few minutes before I get a response.
Pretty Boy
Maxwell and ??? Can’t be Eddie. OMG, is it Eddie?
Me
Yep.
Pretty Boy
Get information.
I love that we think the same.
Me
On it, pretty boy.
Pretty Boy
Of course you are. Just landed in Calgary. I’ll text you when I get to the hotel. Need updates on this.
I send him a lone heart because I know how much it entertains him when I use emojis.
Twenty minutes later, Eddie emerges first. He definitely wants to stab someone. Maxwell trails behind, victory bleeding off him in satisfied waves. He’s not even fully put together. His shirt’s open, belt still undone. And he’s the kind of guy who can pull it off, too. What it must have been like to live a life being that good-looking. I look my age, but he doesn’t look a day over thirty. Must be all his rich-people facial treatments. Or maybe he drinks the blood of children like a fucking witch. I don’t know.
Though, maybe one of those treatments wouldn’t go amiss for me now that I have a younger man. Dirk said he likes my lines, but that means I have lines. Fuck. No. Wrong kind of thinking. I’m not asking Elkington for beauty tips.
Eddie’s stunning, too. I can see why Maxwell lusts after him. He’s got that no fucks to give Italian look to him, a deep olive complexion, and the biggest fucking brown eyes. Bet Maxwell loves Eddie’s feistiness as much as he wants to tame it. Eddie can command a room; I’ve seen him in press conferences. Having a guy like Eddie under him would give a guy like Maxwell the ultimate thrill.
Maxwell stares after Eddie like he’s conquered Everest, and Eddie hastily throws his jacket over himself. No wait, that’s gotta be Elkington’s jacket. Eddie wasn’t wearing one.
“Did that clear things up for you, baby?” Maxwell says without shame or apology.
“I hope you burn in hell, Maxwell.”
“Not what you said a minute ago. Do I need to teach you another lesson?”
Eddie bites his lip like maybe he wants another lesson. He shakes his head in a meek way I wouldn’t have expected from him. “No.”
